Smoke and Shadows by Victoria Paige Page A

even stopped her. She’d simply take them off and sprint barefoot.  
    Ali turned the corner from T Street onto New Hampshire Avenue. His destination undoubtedly the center of Dupont Circle—traffic nightmare capital and a sure fire way to lose a pursuer. But not today.
    She vaguely heard Agent Olsen call her name, but like all marathons, the finish line became the goal and all else faded into white noise. In this case, tackling Ali to the ground was the prime objective, much like a runaway bunny to her wolf.
    Her senses went on full alert as she rounded the corner into Dupont Circle and saw her prey standing with both hands raised. Bystanders reading the paper, and pedestrians crossing the Circle slowly turned their attention on the unfolding drama.  
    So much for covert ops—realizing the impulsiveness of her actions and the cost to her cover.  
    Marissa’s hand went to the grip of her 9mm, not wanting to draw her firearm in such a public place. Besides, Ali was not visibly armed. She needed Olsen to take charge of the arrest, and she needed to fade into the background before anybody decided to make a video, turning her into a YouTube sensation. Wouldn’t that give Yeager heartburn?
    “What’s going on here?” a Metropolitan police officer barked.
    “This is official business, officer!” Marissa shouted, not taking her eyes off Ali. “Get on the ground, Ali!”  
    “Unless you present your badge, ma’am, you have no jurisdiction here and I suggest you remove your hand from your firearm.”
    The CIA had no badge, dummy. That was the FBI or any of the other alphabet agencies, but never the CIA.  
    “Ms. Cole!” Olsen gasped from behind her.
    Marissa should feel relief, but her instincts were screaming for her to hit the deck. This scene was wrong. Very wrong. Ali’s eyes shifted to a spot behind her.
    Son of a bitch. It was a trap.

    Marissa slammed into Olsen just as the first bullet struck the pavement. Thankful for the illegally parked car in front of them, she dragged the Guardian behind the vehicle while yelling for the MPD cop to take cover. Screaming ensued when spectators realized that someone was shooting at them.  
    “Shots fired at the corner of Dupont Circle and New Hampshire Avenue. I need backup now!” the officer said through his shoulder radio. Crouch walking to Marissa and Olsen, he demanded, “Who in Jesus Christ are you guys?”
    “You don’t wanna know,” Marissa replied, wincing briefly when a shell casing struck her face. The car they were hiding behind was being raked by sniper bullets, and all they could do was wait it out. Low ground was a disadvantage and it would be suicide to return fire without knowing the location of your target.
    Speaking of target, Marissa glanced around. Yusuf Ali was long gone.  
    “You’re bleeding, Ms. Cole,” Olsen reminded her to take a physical inventory of her injuries. Not that getting shot at after almost getting blown up was an everyday occurrence, but it did happen, more often than she liked.
    “Flesh wound.” She glanced dispassionately at the rapidly soaking fabric of her jeans.
    “The guy’s ballsy,” Marissa informed the cop. “Isn’t there a police station right across from us?”
    “Damn right there is.”
    A car screeched to a halt beside them.  
    Viktor. Nathan Stark was riding shotgun.
    “Get in.” The AGS top man sounded pissed.
    “You can’t leave,” the police officer protested.
    “I’ll call you,” Marissa quipped as she dove into the back of the Charger, Olsen right behind her.

    *****
    Viktor resisted the urge to park the car, drag Marissa out, and blister her ass. Instead, he concentrated on navigating DC’s most notorious intersection. He’d not spoken a word to Marissa or Agent Olsen since they took refuge in his car, preferring to let Nathan deal with the women and handle the logistics of retrieving the AGS vehicle.
    Marissa was bleeding, and she likely also had a concussion. There was nothing more